Ghosts
by jones2000
Summary: AU. Sequel to 'Cursed'. Sam and Jo are working their second case as a team. Could they have run into a creature that finally defeats them? Meanwhile, an old enemy returns and gives Sam hope that they might be able to save his brother.
1. Everybody Loves a Hero

Jo Harvelle walked into the city bank. And from then on her bad day just got worse.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I'd like to withdraw money from this account," She handed over a slip of paper to the teller. The teller pursed her blood-red lips as she carefully avoided Jo's grubby hand, smeared with what looked suspiciously like dried blood. The woman looked her over, in her ripped jeans and too-big flannel shirt.

"You're Joanna Harvelle?"

"Yes."

The teller counted out the money. "Sign here, please."

Jo scrawled her signature. "Thanks." She shoved the notes in her pocket, alongside the bottle of antiseptic and swabs from the chemist and artist's scalpel from the newsagents. It was about that time that the doors burst open. And in came the complimentary gun-wielding maniac.

"Everybody on the floor!" He roared. "This is a robbery!"

Oh, the originality. Her instincts screamed at her to lay this guy out flat, but she was facing the wrong way and her body was at the wrong angle for an attack. So instead of doing something stupid, she did something stupider.

"Get on the ground! You too, blondie." Footsteps behind her. "Are you deaf, girl?" Her back was to him. He smelled. Of dirt and compost and something sickly sweet.

"No." Jo said. "I've just decided that you aren't worthy of my attention."

There was a whimper behind her from one of the customers. The robber chuckled. "Tough chick, eh?" Rancid breath on her cheek. "I like tough chicks." Jo looked up to the teller's desk. Scissors. Guts. Bam.

He grabbed her bum. In that moment she arched forward and grabbed the scissors.

"Going to hurt me, little girl?"

"Only because you," Step back. "Keep invading," Arm up. "My personal space!"

Swing.

It went into him with a squelch it shouldn't have made. The gun clanged to the floor. There was a yell of 'get him!' from somewhere behind her as she spun. Jo could see him now. Masked, he was only a little taller than she, and not much heavier. But he wasn't done yet.

Buckling, he made one last lunge for her, his hands wrapping around her throat.

He raised his mouth to her ear.

"Help me."

And then he was gone.

* * *

The ambulance and police arrived, closely followed by the local media. Jo was sitting on a low decorative wall as the medicos looked her over. She had insisted she leave as soon as possible, and the officers had insisted just as strongly that she get checked for shock as well as giving her statement to the cops.

Jo had been up against hellhounds, banshees, apparitions and various demons, but she sat helplessly through the blinking lights and camera flashes, unable to react. Unable to move. And all through it she could hear people whispering. _She saved us. _

_She took him down for us. _

_He had a gun and everything. _

_She saved us. _

_She's a hero. _

"The Nightly News wants to interview you later." Said Officer Gabriel Forsyth, who had just taken her statement. "Should I give them the yes?"

Jo glanced over to them. The camera was trained on her face even from this distance. She was a hunter, who hung out with a wanted man. The last thing she wanted was her shapely figure splashed all over the evening news.

"No."

"You stopped an armed gunman."

"I killed him."

"You diffused a potentially violate situation, miss. While he was endangering the public, do you think we would have done any differently? Bask in the glory of the moment for a while. Everybody loves a hero."

_Everybody loves a hero. _But all she could think of was that she'd left him.

She'd left Sam, her hunting partner, broken and bleeding on the floor of their flat, promising she was only going to be gone for a little while, she was going to grab some more medical supplies and some cash for their next run.

_'I'll be back soon. Hold on.' _

"No. I have to go."

"But-"

"Do you need anything else? I really have to go."

"But-"

"Tell the news I'm sorry to put them at a disadvantage, but I'm sure they'll find something else to slap into their feelgood section. Like surfing squirrels or singing fish." She was losing her patience now. Gabriel could tell as she shifted her weight to her left leg, ready to swing out with her right fist.

He could tell that this was a woman who would not take kindly to being held up at gunpoint.

"Of course." He said. She turned and he watched as she vaulted the perimeter fence and strode to a sleek black car.

As the vehicle pulled out onto the open road, he wondered who she really was. This Joanna Harvelle, as tough as they came, who looked like she'd been in the wars only recently.

This girl, who had killed a man with a pair of silver scissors.

* * *

"Decay. That's what it was. I'm telling you, Sam, the guy smelt like he was death warmed up."

"You… downed him?"

"And the rest. They went into him as clean as you like. It was like cutting into a wet sponge."

"Well… there's always that possibility… a body dies and their muscle mass begins to break down."

"You're saying zombie?" The scalpel chinked against something metallic in his collar and Sam jumped. "Bite."

He bit down onto the scrap of leather to prevent himself screaming out or biting through his tongue as Jo dug around in his flesh. Bullets. They hurt twice as much coming out then they did going in. "God damn 15th century poltergeists. How the hell do they learn to shoot anyway?"

Sam glared at her.

"Are those tears in your eyes? Be a man, Sam. Ah, here it comes." With some twisting, the bullet popped out of the hole. San spat out the leather tongue and spent the next thirty seconds swearing vehemently.

"Why, Samuel Winchester, I'm surprised at you. My dad always told me not to use bad words when I didn't know what they meant."

"Just sew it up." Sam groaned. "And tell me more about your close encounter of the hygienically-challenged kind."

"Okay, I know I shouldn't really talk, 'cause I've been on hunts before where I haven't been able to get to a shower in forever, but this guy. It was totally weird." Sam flinched as the needle pierced his skin. "And then he was half falling on me and he asked for help. He could have strangled me, but instead he asked for help."

"You just stabbed him with scissors. Of course he wanted help."

"No, you're missing it. He went all rigid and his voice went a bit funny. It was like he didn't know where he was. And if you'd just been stabbed with scissors, would you really ask for help from the person who put them there?"

"Point." Sam stood, winced and stretched.

"Not too much movement with that arm. You'll pull the stitches out." Jo said sternly. "So. Zombie?"

"Maybe. What you said doesn't fit the profile, though. A zombie is essentially a dead body being controlled by someone using a brand of voodoo. But what you encountered sounded like there were two people somehow trapped in this one corpse."

"Cute. A personality disorder in the undead. That's a new one." She began to clean up after their home operation. Her hands were still wet with his blood. Thankfully, no major arteries had been grazed, or they'd really be in trouble. "You know, what does surprise me is that neither of us are surprised by this anymore."

Sam grinned. "Weirdness runs in the family." He sat back down facing her as Jo wiped her hands clean.

"I hate this part of the job. You can never get the blood out of under your nails." She complained.

"You hate this part of the job? What about me? You enjoy inflicting pain a little too much for my liking." He reached for his shirt. "So. You wanna go check out the crime scene?"

Jo's brows rose. "Are you mad?" She exclaimed. "The area is crawling with police, and is going to stay that way for the next couple of days _at least._ You can't go out there in case anyone recognises you."

"Did you see any feds?" He asked. Jo shook her head. "Then I'm fine. As long as you keep introducing me as Tom."

"You're crazy."

"Very possibly."

"You're gonna get us caught. You're gonna get yourself killed. You're gonna get _me _killed."

"Extremely unlikely." He gave her his most winning smile. "Are you really going to say no to me?"

"Come over here so I can put a bullet in the other side." She replied.

Yes, everybody loved a hero.

"We are so screwed." Jo murmured.


	2. End Game

Jo and Sam got out of the car, half a block from the bank. Sam put on his dark glasses and pulled a cap low over his face. "Let's go say hello."

Jo walked up to the police barricade. They were still assessing how a masked gunman had somehow walked up and through the crowed street and into the foyer, somehow managing not to trip the security.

"I spy with my little eye."

"Yeah." Sam pulled the collar of his coat up further.

"Joanna!" Jo looked up. Gabriel Forsyth looked up from conversing with a policewoman, smiled at her and waved her under the police tape. "Come through."

"Hey."

"Hi. I didn't think you'd be back this way."

"Yeah. My friend… Tom here was in a hunting accident and I had to go make sure he had cleaned himself up properly. No offence, but men and hygiene…"

"None taken. Hunting accident. Sounds painful." He turned his attention to Sam.

"Sounds worse than it is." Sam lent forward and shook his hand. "Joanna wanted to know if you'd found anything. How did the guy get in?"

"Disabled the alarm." A big, burly officer joined Gabriel. "Not spilling secrets to the civvies, Forsyth?"

"No sir." He looked awkward. Jo took the initiative and stuck out her hand.

"Joanna Harvelle."

"Sheriff Brown." His large paw dwarfed her smaller hand. "You're the Scissors Girl."

Sam snorted.

"Scissors Girl?" Jo asked, aghast.

"That's what the press are calling you, girlie. The whole city's abuzz with you right now." Sheriff Brown nodded. "Not bad for a civvie."

"But I killed him."

"Yeah. And if he lived he would have sued you. It's a messed up world we live in. The good always get kicked when they're down."

"Aren't you a little cynical for this job?" Sam asked, clearly amused.

"I'm the son of a cop, raised by a cop, and been a cop for thirty years. Maybe I don't like it, but it's all I know how to do."

"Amen." Sam held out his hand. "Tom." And from then on Jo began to notice something extremely odd. Odder than usual. The two cops suddenly became immensely agreeable.

"Tom and Joanna. I know everyone in these parts, but I don't believe I've ever seen you before."

"We're new." Jo said.

"Well, welcome to town, Miss Harvelle." He chuckled. Jo watched him as he walked away. She glanced at Sam. His serene smile was beginning to freak her out a bit.

"So, what about the dead guy? What have you got on him?" Sam turned his attention back to Gabriel. And there was definitely something more than unusual going on. There was a slight ringing in her ears and all the worry lines were smoothed from Gabriel Forsyth's face.

"John Doe." He replied. "No one's seen him before, no one's reported him missing."

"That was quick." Jo remarked.

"This isn't the nineties." The cop replied. "And…"

"What?" Sam asked.

"I'm not even sure I should tell you this."

"Sure you can." And Jo realised what it was. It was the super-freaky Jedi mind trick that a lot of the psychics she'd ever met had going on. And she decided then and there that she was never going to get on the wrong side of Sam Winchester.

"This guy, forensics gave him the run down. The scissors didn't kill him."

"Then what did?"

"Probably the head trauma he sustained."

"But I didn't whack him on the head!"

"Our boys, they swear that this guy was killed by a blow to the head. Fractured the skull. He's even on record at the morgue. Our John Doe has been dead for two weeks."

* * *

It watched upside-down as the window was levered open and the female shimmied through the gap, dropping lightly to the ground. She was followed by a larger male, who had to twist himself repeatedly to avoid getting stuck in the window frame. 

"City morgue. We hang out at all the neat spots, don't we?"

"Shh."

It watched as they crossed the floor to the body of the dead vessel. They were strong; it could feel it. They were the ones that the captain wanted. The captain was right; they had come to the call of the unknown.

It let go of the air duct, dropping silently to the ground. Neither of the humans moved, for it could not be seen with human eyes. It was a creature of this dimension but also beyond it, it's physical form existing somewhere else.

_After this job is done I shall be an Underdemon no longer. _Craning up, he looked at the male. This one would provide a challenge. Reaching up one thin, wraithlike finger, he touched the male's wrist.

Sam flinched, jerking his arm away.

Jo jumped too. "Don't DO that!" She hissed.

Sam rubbed at his wrist. "Must've twisted it during our last hunt. It'll be good."

"Great. 'Cause I'm not in the mood for any of your Alison Dubois, ghost-whispering, 'I see dead people' crap."

The Underdemon let out a low, keening noise, cradling his injured claw. The male. There was a talisman hanging around his neck on a length of cord. And it had burnt him. A warning not to try again, or it would be consumed.

But now he was angry. Hissing, he reached up to the man. There was magic that he seemed unaware of, sorcery that protected him that tasted unfamiliar to the creature.

And more. It was like the protection that the Mother awarded to her favourites, but different. Perverted.

"Can you hear that?"

"Not funny, Sam."

It looked at the female. She was smaller, but not weaker. She would stand in the way to defend her companion, this male that she had staked a claim on. She would have to be removed. The captain was right in his assumption that these two had become firm partners in their quest against all they deemed evil.

However, she did not possess that what the Mother wanted. But the boy had brushed against the gates of death before being pulled back. He knew death and did not fear it. He was the business of death and he dealt in it regularly . And that made him a powerful enemy.

It jumped up on a cabinet to be by the man's shoulder, this person Death and Fate had marked as one of their own. Craning down, it whispered into his ear._ Do you fear death, Samuel Winchester? It comes for you like a dog after a bone, ripping and tearing. It will find you and drag you screaming down into the pit. _

Sam's face pinched. He was suddenly feeling uneasy, though he had no idea why.

_You will fight the End Game alone, deserted by your allies. Even she will abandon you to your fate. Demons have marked you out, and Death is eager to collect his dues._

"Sam, are you alright?"

"I-" Suddenly his head was being torn apart. He was vaguely aware of his legs folding up underneath him as the beasts leapt out of the fire to tear at his flesh and bones. He screamed and more of the creatures laughed, faceless people with emptiness at their core. The Damned jeered and taunted at his suffering, as once was done to them.

Legions of demons clashed in a blaze of sparks and blood, the raging battle becoming all consuming. One soldier could not be told from another, so they cut down their companions and superiors alike, not knowing the difference. Finally the victorious army began to chant one word over and over. _Lilith. Lilith. Lilith. _

Among the debris he saw Death stalking toward him, wickedly curved blade held aloft, and then… And then all was quiet. Sam was lying on grass. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees.

"Choose the Mother and you may be spared this suffering. Choose the Mother and be reunited with your brother, the captain of my glorious Legion of the Damned. And together, you will quash those in the name of the Mother."

He looked up. Before him was a woman so beautiful that she put all others he had ever seen to shame. She was so… bewitching. And it wasn't right. "Who are you?"

"I am your friend. But should you spurn me I shall become your enemy. I know all about you, Sam Winchester." She raised her head. Sam felt sick as her eyes began to glow a horribly familiar colour.

Yellow.

_Do you fear death? _

His eyes snapped open and he began gulping down air like a dying man. The smell of sulphur still stung the inside of his nose and made his eyes water, though the air here, while stale, was clear.

Jo was looking down at him, which meant he must have been flat out on the floor. She frowned at him. "Who's Lilith?"

Sam was going to respond, knew he should respond, but all he could think was _Ragnarok. End Game. Final Battle. We're all going to die. _

The invisible creature scampered up into the air vents once more, satisfied for the moment that its work was done. Even though the talisman prevented him from physically harming the male; a glimpse into the world of the Kings of Hell would surely drive him mad. Mad enough to distract him from his purpose.

This creature had once been in the service of a very powerful Demon Lord, and it had watched as his lord and the lord's most influential children perished at the hands of this family. They were dangerous. Very dangerous. That was why he had been warned not to openly approach them.

And now he had seen the boy that his old master had been so obsessed with. He was shockingly powerful, and if he could learn how to harness that power he would make a terrible warrior, the likes that had not been seen since the Slayers War.

The old lord was right when he said that this man would be a great leader. What remained to be seen was whether he would be the great leader of the demon horde.

Or of the men that resisted them.


	3. Trickster

He was a long way from home.

He scurried across the street and up a streetlight. It was night. The creature liked the night. He didn't have to try to blend in as hard during night. Darkness was his kingdom.

There was a shriek of laughter from beneath him. Dangling down he saw a male and a female coming out of the nearest drinking establishment, both of them weaving as they walked. He growled low at the alcohol-sodden primates.

They would soon know their place in the world.

He dropped to the ground silently. The humans were swiftly coming upon him; through they could not possibly hope to see the creature, as one-dimensional as they were.

The creature growled once more, running his tongue across his teeth. Two more Underdemons would thread this earth tonight.

He leapt.

He could feel his claws sinking into flesh as the humans screamed. He ignored them. They were only the means to an end. Finally the pair of them lay dead in this back alleyway, one block away from the bright lights of the police station.

He looked at the bodies, and he felt no remorse for what he had just done. The human plague that walked this planet was only fit die for their Overlords. He submerged his hand in blood.

_Come, brother. Come, sister. _

Stepping back, he watched as the red blood began to bubble and boil. A shadow slowly seeped out of the spreading stain, followed by another, smaller. He watched as they shaped themselves before his eyes.

_Greetings, brother. _

_Ah, the Overworld! Sweet Lord, it's absolutely vile. _

They spoke in fragments of languages, yet still understood each other, as family spawn often did.

They had come through the portal, which had been opened by the spilling of blood on the ground. The humans of old would have known how to prevent such a thing, but the old ways had been lost for many years now. The three of them stood in a circle, staring down at the mess.

_Should we remove them? _

_No. We may require their services later. _The youngest turned to the eldest. _You fool, approaching them like that. _

_They believe that the Undead have been unleashed. They are unaware of who we truly are. The old ways have been lost to them. _

_Do not underestimate the hunters. Who were the ones that drove us under the ground? Their ancestors. The ones that called themselves the Slayers. _

_Yes. _

_For the Mother. _

_For Lilith, soon to be Queen of Hell. _

Unbeknown to the three minor demons, someone was watching them. Someone could see their figures in the darkness, stick thin and spindly and comical, as if someone had taken a sheet of latex and stretched it firmly over a fake skeleton, where half the bones were missing.

The Trickster watched these little demons, demons that he would have been too proud and dignified to consort with in the past. Before that bleedin' Mother decided to declare war and had forced the subservience of each creature that existed within her domain.

"Look at this filth." He commented. "What the flamin' heck does she think she's gonna do with that rubbish? So, it'll keep the human numbers down. What happens when all that are left are those little creeps?"

"Mother knows what she is doing."

"So you say, Cerberus, but all I have seen so far of your precious mother is a scary and sometimes frankly unbalanced Archdemon. I don't know anything of the plan, if she has one, or whether she's making it up as she goes along."

"Mother knows the plan. And as such she is only giving out the pieces that apply to each one of you insubordinate fleshcrawlers. Very useful in forcing the traitorous into line." The Trickster heard the sting in the demon's reply and bristled.

"Are you saying I'm one of the traitorous?"

"You have been given free rein for too long, creature. And as soon as Mother begins to restrain you and give you less room to strut about, you pull at the line and yip and snap like a dog."

"How dare-?"

"Easily. If not for my intervention on your behalf, you would have been dead long before now. Mother does not like you. But I insisted that you be kept alive as you and her captain have such a repertoire."

"So I owe you for your mercy?" He sneered.

"You may rebuff me at any time, refuse my protection and reclaim your dignity. But then you would be quite dead." His eyes menacingly sparkled a poisonous green. "I would not stand in your way. You are a rather annoying being."

"So I've been told." The Trickster growled as Cerberus stood in his borrowed body. "Cerberus, you miserable son of a bitch."

"Yes. I am."

The Trickster watched as he walked away through narrowed eyes. The plan, whatever it was, had to be heating up if the guardian of the mouth of Hell was once again walking the surface.

The Anorexia Demons had vanished. The Trickster didn't bother looking around for them. He stood and straightened the suit he was wearing. Contempt for all demonkind was no excuse for sloppy dressing.

"Odin's arse." He breathed. "Arrogant piece a'- Thinks he can get the better of me, we'll see about that, see who gets the last laugh, then he won't be so smug." The Trickster looked up at the tall building opposite to where they had been sitting. There was one light still on, near the very top. In the last half-hour, both man and woman had walked past that window.

He knew who they were, though this was as close as he dared to go, in case he really was killed this time. The Mother, she really had reined him in. He was no longer allowed to put his powers to use unless it profited her directly, and that's probably what he missed the most.

Straightening the lapel of his jacket, he continued to stare at the window. Any other time he wouldn't have even pondered it, not even a little. But now…

It was time to pay an old friend a visit.

The light in the window finally flickered off.

* * *

It struck Jo as amusing that once she used to feel safe in the darkness. Not anymore.

She glanced over to Sam's bed. He was lying on his uninjured side, completely still. He almost could have been asleep, but she knew he too was lying awake, musing. As she finally closed her eyes, something dropped off the side of the counter and shattered.

Someone uttered a string of expletives before all was quiet once more.

Jo shot up from bed. Sam did the same, jolting his shoulder as he did so. As one they reached for their weapons. He nudged the door open with his foot and she raised her shotgun to her shoulder, finger tightening on the trigger…

"Don't shoot!"

"Who? You!" Sam was shocked, but the grip on his knife didn't slacken. He was standing there, hands to the sky, dressed to the nines. He was there… yet Sam couldn't believe it.

"You know this maniac?" Jo demanded. She glanced toward the door. It was still locked and chained; nothing had been moved.

He ignored her. "You're dead!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Stop it!" Jo cut across them both. "What the f- what's going on?"

"You first." Sam brandished the knife around erratically.

"One, children shouldn't play with knives." The dark haired man said stoutly. Jo waved her hand at Sam and he reluctantly put down the blade.

"So. You're the replacement for old Deano." He looked her up and down, and it kind of made her skin crawl. "Not bad. Not bad at all." It was then Jo realised she was wearing just boxers and a tee shirt.

"Who are you?" She asked again, patience running thin. It was only a matter of time before the neighbours started pounding on the walls, demanding silence.

"There's a better question you could be asking right about now." He said slyly. Jo thought for a moment.

"What are you?"

"Very good, grasshopper." He smiled at her, then his gaze switched to Sam. "I come under the white flag of truce."

"A truce? With us? What sort of insane world did I wake up in?" Sam asked sarcastically. "You bring down the high and mighty. Look around; we aren't exactly high or mighty."

The intruder smiled. "'Cause I need your help."

"What?"

"You said it yourself. Bring down the high and mighty. That's what I do. I'm old. Very old. And in all that time I have never had to ask anyone else for a hand." He scowled. "Do you know what that's like? To finally give in and say 'I need help'?"

"Can't say I have." But he carefully avoided looking at Jo as he said it.

"I've got this old bag lined up for a shakedown, see, but I can't get in there and do it myself."

"So don't do it yourself. Conjure up something from your bag of tricks. I'm sure there's a few clichés you haven't used yet. Homicidal ghosts. Deranged psychopath." His eyes narrowed triumphantly. "Ah. But you wouldn't be here if it was that easy."

The scowl on the other man's face deepened. Then he smirked. "How about I make you a deal?"

"A deal."

"Yeah. Sort of a 'you scratch my back I'll scratch yours' thing. I know you're here about all these missing bodies that turn up again in a few days. And I can tell you that you're way off the mark with what you're working on. You're looking for the wrong thing."

"Really. Then what are we looking for?"

"Uh huh. We shake first." And Sam was offered the Trickster's hand. He smiled furtively. "Come on, Sammy, I don't double cross the people I'm working with."

"Really." He said again. "Then what about this 'old bag' that you're so afraid of? I take it you're working for her?" And although Sam was determined to keep up the 'tough' façade, inside he was certain he knew who the Trickster was referring to.

The creature's grin widened. "Yes. But strictly speaking, she's not a person, see?"


	4. Mother

"They're very minor creatures, but they're good at creatin' devastation. That's why they haven't been wiped out yet. Very willing to do the dirty work for bigger bads that'll provide 'em with protection."

"Demons for hire."

"More of a malevolent ghost. They can and do drive people mad. They like whispering. Suggesting. The power of suggestion is very strong. Of course they hadn't been around for centuries and I thought they must have all been dead."

"So they're like a typical ghost?"

"Not really. For one, they step across into this world through a portal opened by the blood of a murdered human. They do absorb minor elements of the person they came out through, so to pass themselves off as normal ghosts if need be."

"Cheery."

"Normal ghosts?"

"A normal ghost. One that just moans and groans and shakes its head despairingly. Most hunters would just leave them be, 'cause they're not doing anything to anyone. But these critters are dangerous. They can do all the typical ghost stuff, plus they can-"

"Possess the dead." Sam said grimly.

"I was about to say that." The Trickster said huffily. "That is, they can possess the dead until warded off with any of the typical ghost-warding things."

"What?"

"You know, ghost warding stuff. Salt. Iron. Silver. Maybe even garlic, I know it makes me break out in spots."

"Right."

"Sam, that thing that attacked me. The scissors were silver-plated."

"Exactly! They can possess the dead, but their abilities in that area are tenuous at best. It only takes the smallest swipe to sever that link between undead and dead."

"So. Can they be killed?"

"Of course."

"And how would one go about doing that?"

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." The Trickster waggled a finger at him. "Don't think I would mistake you for being too moral to cross me."

Sam pulled a face and sat back down on the edge of Jo's bed. There was history between these two, history that Sam didn't want to talk about and the Trickster delighted in. "We can just go to the library and look it up, you know."

A Trickster. Jo remembered when she was little and her dad would tell her the most amazing stories about the most amazing creatures. Loki was the most real. He swore and stole and created devastation wherever he went. He was so human.

"Yeah. But then what would happen to Dean?" He said smugly.

The air seemed to freeze. Sam's eyes appeared to get blacker and angrier. "Don't say his name." He said softly. "He died to bring me back and there was nothing I could do to save him. Now there's some demon wandering around out there wearing his face. He's dead."

"No." The Trickster contradicted. "Remember that conceited old bitch I was telling you about? She done a deal, didn't she? Pulled his soul outta Hell. On the condition that he give up being human."

"Give up being human?" Jo echoed incredulously.

"He doesn't feel. Doesn't tire. No jokes, no sympathy, no passion. Now he's just cold logic, endurance, strength and emptiness. She cut away the parts of your brother that separated him from the monster he was always only steps away from becoming. He was dangerous before, but now he's phenomenally lethal. And he serves her. As the captain of her Army of the Damned."

Everything stopped. The ground swung underneath him and he couldn't breathe. Dean, his big brother, was their leader. He was no longer merely human, but an unthinking tool crafted by this Mother. Before now a small part of him hoped that one day he would hear another of Dean's goofy jokes, that they would argue half-teasingly over something unbelievingly insignificant, that he would walk through the door and say it was all a prank.

But now that hope had been smashed into powder.

He grabbed his head, tangling his fingers into his hair. With the stubble on his chin and the scratches on his face, he looked quite mad. "Why," He whispered. "Does this crap always happen to us?!"

But his real question was _why me? _

Jo reached out hesitantly and gripped his shoulder firmly. "It'll be alright."

"How can you say that? How many people in your family have died for you? Gone to Hell for you? How many of them have come back as demonic chattels?" He snapped at her impatiently.

"My family?" Jo replied coolly, withdrawing her hand as if she'd been burned. "None. That I know of. My dad, his sisters and my mother's brothers were all hunters. And I don't really know what happened to any of them."

Sam hung his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Yes, yes, cutesy bonding moment. But _are _you going to keep up your end of the bargain?" There was almost a note of panic in the Trickster's voice. "Tell you what, 'cause I like you, I'll also tell you where you can find your merry murderer Dean."

Sam's eyes glinted dangerously. "Why do you think we can do anything about this Mother?"

"Because," He stared at Sam. "She's afraid of you."

He laughed. "Yeah. Right. Spin me another one."

"Alright, perhaps 'afraid' is too stronger word. How about 'wary'? 'Cautious', 'suspicious', 'troubled', 'anxious'. She knows who you are and knows what you're capable of. The vanishing hunters? All of the were potential leaders of some kind. All of them were capable of rallying the pockets of hunters throughout this fair land."

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"Because you fall under the category of 'leader', m'boy. A certain demon made sure of that long ago." Sam unconsciously touched his lips. "Demons made you powerful without realising that you might be the one to bring them down, and now the Mother intends to put right that error. You may have been told you would be a great commander, but the question remains. Commander of which side? Good or evil? And she is not going to take any chances when her significant other died at your family's hands."

Sam's head snapped up and he grimaced. "Are you saying that-? Aw, what a horrible mental picture."

"Be fair. How do you think they get little demons?"

"So you're saying that those two were what? Married? Conveniently intimate? And those psychics the Yellow-eyed Demon was harvesting…" Jo glanced at Sam's shocked face. _Wrong word. _"Er, _recruiting, _were for some great master plan and the demon just happened to get knocked off before curfew?"

"I'm thinking that she's learning from her consort's mistakes. He tried to take the Overworld first. The Mother? She's starting down town." He pointed his finger at the ground, as if they didn't get it first time. "Lilith. She's an old fashioned girl, from another time. I can't think of a time when she wasn't there. She might be a lot of things, but she ain't a rookie."

"That's good. Because we aren't either." Sam said flatly.

"Sam?" She recognised his tone. He'd slipped into commando mode, no job too big, and no job too small. "This could all be a-"

"Trick? Yes, it's always a possibility." The Trickster smiled. He straightened himself up. "I see it all now. The Mother, wary of the great hunter Samuel Winchester sends her faithful chaperone to confront the miser and lure him into a false sense of security and lead him away from his companion and partner Joanna Harvelle, whereon fulfilment of said plan springs a trap bringing him face to face with the Lady of Hell herself." He raised his eyebrows.

"Dear girl, if even _you_ could see through it, then it's not much of a plan."

Jo bristled. "Watch it, stumpy."

He turned back to Sam, apparently concluding that he was the brains of the operation and dismissing Jo as the extra muscle. "You in?"

Sam pondered the Trickster's outstretched hand. "What do you think, Jo?"

"You're asking me?"

"You're asking her?"

He ignored the creature. "You said it before. You're my partner now and I'm stuck with you. It works the other way around too. But if you are really going to watch my back, you have to fight with me, not next to me. Got that?" She nodded. "All or nothing. What do you think?"

"Well." Jo said slowly. "From a purely practical point of view, I'd say it made sense to take out this demon who's vying to fill the gap left by the Yellow-eyed one. But if she really is as big and bad as you say," she pointed at the Trickster, who's innocent face was achingly comical. "Then I don't see how we can possibly take her down, just the two of us."

Sam nodded. The same thing had probably occurred to him faster than it occurred to her, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the fact that he could not take it alone. "No one else can be trusted."

She sighed and shook her head despairingly. "You use all these different hunters for information all the time. And you don't trust any of them?"

"No." _Probably hasn't for years. _

"You know that's why so many of us die." She said. "We're killing each other. Soon there'll be no one left to fight. You didn't want me along at first, either. Didn't think you could trust me. Thought you'd make better of it alone."

He was quiet.

"The kid's right." The Trickster conceded reluctantly. Sam looked up.

"She is?"

"I am?"

"They're out there. Waiting for you. You people, you die because you're too damn _proud, _too busy not looking at the big picture. There's an army out there. Bigger than anything you can possibly image. Creatures you couldn't possibly visualize. They thrive off blood and pain and darkness. The Damned walk and the Queen of Hell has risen."

The duo stared at him. Slowly he looked up at them, and his eyes were wary. Even fearful.

"If you don't stand up to her completely unified, you'll all die and there'll be no one left. The Damned are coming, and a half-mad clairvoyant and his blonde sidekick are hardly gonna slow them up. Buck up, kiddo, you need an army."


	5. Ghosts

The Trickster left to let them muse over his unusual offer.

"We're going to do this?" Jo asked.

"You don't have to. I have to see this through."

"Sam-"

"She's been getting into my dreams. Getting into my visions. I've got to get her out of my head."

Jo nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Your mother would call you crazy."

"My mother runs an intelligence agency out of a pub in Los Angeles. Crazy is as crazy does." She flopped back onto the mattress. "Crazy runs in packs."

Sam smiled humourlessly.

He lay awake, his mind whirring, as Jo finally went back to sleep.

_Lilith. Lilith. Lilith. _

Making up his mind, he gathered his clothes and his satchel. Dressing quickly he cast one guilty look to Jo before slipping out the door quietly, careful not to disturb the circle of salt. This was something he had to do alone.

He stepped out of the dingy motel, shoulders hunched against the cold.

"Hey, kid. Was wonderin' if you were going to stand me up. Couldn't resist an offer like that, huh?"

Sam eyed the creature curiously. "You better remember that I'm not doing this for you." He said. "And I'm sure as heck not going to get involved in some demonic war. I'm only going to get my brother back."

"Loyal to the end." The Trickster grinned. "And so endearingly naïve. You've had a part in this demonic war since you were six months old." He sighed dramatically. "But I accept your terms. I'll take you to scope out the situation and lead you back safely if we don't see Dean. But a question. Why aren't you going to take blondie with you after that 'teamwork' declaration?"

"I can't. I can't ask her to die for me. She's like my sister and I can't expect that of her."

"Dean was your brother and you expected that of him." The Trickster said slyly. "Subconsciously if not intentionally."

Sam's eyes seemed to sparkle in the darkness before the Trickster found that something large and invisible had wrapped itself around his throat. He glared at the human angrily.

"I could break you with a snap of my fingers." He growled. "Put me down."

"Probably. But you won't." The force that had been pressing down on his neck vanished.

"Nice trick." The Trickster remarked. "But you're still a little erratic with the casting. You've got to really _mean _it."

Sam said nothing.

"So tell me, Sammy boy. And what are you planning to do once you have big brother in your sights?" The Trickster asked casually. "He's been infused with the power of the Mother. Unless you have a reinforced cellar somewhere or a small army packed away in the boot, you got a snowball's chance in hell of holding him."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"You're reckless, boy."

"Yes."

The pair of them walked to the Impala. Sam kept repeating to himself something his father had told him after he had salted and burned his first ghost.

_'The ends justify the means. If you spend all your time dwelling on the means, you're gonna get yourself killed.'_

Dad.

_I hope I'm doing the right thing._

* * *

When Jo woke up, Sam was gone.

In hindsight she should have expected it. _Sam, you bloody moron. _Of course the Impala was gone, his bed was stone cold and all his things were missing. _You idiot._ Though Jo didn't really know whether she was referring to Sam or herself. Winchesters were always very adept at lying.

Then she noticed the piece of notepaper propped up on the counter. It had obviously been torn from a journal of some sort. Running her fingers through her hair, she picked it up and peered at it.

It was covered in Sam's neat hand.

_'Malevolent ghost – From blood of a murder victim_

_Like 'typical' ghosts. Power of suggestion, _

_Watch out. _

_Salt, iron, silver _

_Bag by door. _

_Sorry. Sam' _

"Great. I am so not the research girl." She muttered.

Sam had left his satchel by the door. Jo pawed through the bag. There was his computer, a silver knife, a shotgun loaded with salt, several iron pegs and a stack of newspapers. He'd set her up to kill these things if the Trickster didn't come through.

_At least I'm not sitting on my ass doing nothing._

She turned on the computer, trying not to grimace.

"Okay. Let's do this thing."

Over the next hour she flicked through several dozen pages. It was shocking how many people posted information on the internet without doing a little fact-checking first.

Then she hit something that looked promising.

"- a tradition of the early people of the eastern countries was to nail an iron spike or tack into the place a murdered person had fallen to prevent the angry spirit from being woken and wreaking havoc on the village." She smiled. "Gotcha."

She opened the first newspaper. Sam had circled and questioned many of the people in the obituaries, and his little notes were scrawled in the margin.

"Sam, I don't give you enough credit."

She scoured the name of the first conclusive victim.

"'Roy Appleby'." _Place of death – outside Hilton. LV. 'John Doe'. _

"Our John Doe. At least it's here."

Later that night she was out the door and heading to the Las Vegas Hilton Hotel. Thankfully it was only two blocks or so from where they were staying.

Being a country kid brought up in the middle of nowhere, Jo had become accustomed to seeing ramshackle old shacks and haunted mansions, neither of them worthy of human habitation. There was nothing nearly as humble here, in the swanky part of town.

During the day everything looked dead, but as soon as the sun went down, the nutters came out to party.

Bright lights. Laughter. Showgirls. The spinning of the slot machines and the sound of money trickling out of punters' pockets and into the wallets of the casino owners. It was the wildest dream of many of the men she had ever known.

The Hilton was huge and imposing. Jo stared up at the many security cameras and wondered how the hell she could manage to drive an iron stake into the ground without being seen. But first thing's first.

She had to find exactly where Roy Appleby fell and ultimately died.

Shining her torch on the ground, she began a circuit of the hotel's perimeter. One guy did holler out something obscene at her from a blue Cadillac but hardly anyone else noticed her erratic behaviour when half of the people still marauding the streets were as high as kites.

Then she noticed something. A patch of cement was darker than the rest. Jo crouched down to inspect the stain to ascertain that it was definitely dried blood and not, say, ketchup. All the surrounds were very clean, so there couldn't have been many things it could have been.

"Hello, Roy."

Next step. Driving a nail through cement without being caught.

"Aren't we having fun tonight?" Plus there was the small fact that she didn't have a mallet. Or a jackhammer.

* * *

Sam followed the Trickster's directions out of town.

"Pity." The Trickster said morosely. "I was really looking forward to hitting the casinos before heading back."

"Heading back to what?"

"A life of servitude."

"Who are you trying to fool?"

The Trickster gave him a dirty look. "Stop here."

"Here? There's nothing here."

"Well, you're not going to put your secret hideout in a place where anyone can find it, are you?" He tapped the dash. "Come on then, kid. Let's go meet the neighbours."

Sam got out of the Impala apprehensively and gave the vehicle one last parting pat. He didn't resist as the Trickster took hold of his elbow and steered him further into nowhere.

"I still don't see anything."

"Are you sure you're looking hard enough? Some people have a hard time getting over the difference between what they really see and what they expect to see."

"You have some perverse need to code everything in a riddle, don't you?"

The Trickster's smile sent chills down his spine. Without warning and with more force than Sam would have expected, he was flung forward into a tree. His nose made a sickening crunching sound as it collided with the trunk.

"Hold him." The Trickster said sharply. Sam barely had time to move as the weeds and the vines and the trees tried to capture him in their limbs. A thorny bush curled itself around his wrist and he gave an angry shout and ripped the plant from the ground.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. So endearingly _naïve_. You should have listened to the blonde."

"What you told Jo. That _was_ your plan!" _How could he have been so stupid? _

"Flaunted so openly that no one would have expected a thing." He gave a hard grin. "Get him."

There was a growl behind him. Out of the smoke stepped a huge black thing with viscous curved claws and massive jaws dripping saliva. Sam jumped back as another followed the first.

Hellhounds. Or pretty near perfect copies.

The Trickster laughed as the hunter turned tail and fled the only way that was clear. Further into the trees. "Run, my pretty." He cackled. "My little doggies here need a good exercise."

_Stand and fight, you coward. Stand and fight! Why didn't you wake her, you stupid freak? You're going to die. Here. Now. No way out._

"Tell you what, if you survive, I'll take you to see big brother!"

* * *

Jo was sitting on a bench under a camera when she had a sudden brainwave. None of the folklore mentioned how big the nail was or wasn't, as long as it was driven into the ground and didn't break before it was fully immersed.

So she dug into the satchel once more. She knew that clinking around there somewhere were several iron rounds. Withdrawing one, she sank to the pavement, with her messy hair and outsized clothes she looked all the world like another hobo.

Ray Appleby's stain was on cracked pavement. Something large had shattered the cement, exposing the dark earth. Resting on her haunches, she estimated the centre, dug a small hole with her little finger and pushed in the round until she could hardly see it.

Staring at it, she waited for something to happen. Nothing did.

"Well. That was anticlimactic." She got to her feet, checking to make sure the bag was securely on her shoulder.

As she was about to leave, something screamed from further downtown.

It was loud and hoarse and animalistic and Jo stopped to listen. She knew for a fact that no human was capable of creating that sort of noise. Thrusting her hand into the air, she felt a small thrill of triumph.

Now Jo was a girl on a mission. "One down." Withdrawing a pen and notepad from her bag, she ticked off a name. "Only thirteen more to go. It's going to be one hell of a night."

The scream abruptly ended as if the creature's lungs had vanished. And perhaps they had.


	6. Deal

His hands were bleeding. Plants still reached forward to snag at his legs and face, and all his cuts had gone numb, leaving only a dull ache.

He could still hear the Hellhounds some distance behind him. They were following him without getting too close on his tail. Shepherding him somewhere.

An unearthly scream rent the night air. The third scream in two hours. It seemed to echo in every fold and crevice. And it gave Sam a small respite from his tormenters as he realised that Jo wasn't running after him like he half expected.

She was doing her job.

And it was time for him to do his.

Turning around and staring these two spawn of Hell in the eyes was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he did it. His brother had bravely stared down his fate and so would he.

He spread his arms wide. "Come on and kill me then. And I bet there's going to be plenty of other demons out there pretty cranky that they didn't get a shot. Come and kill me, Mother."

Sam had said the magic words. Both Hellhounds shot out to either side, yipping and whining like pups that had been kicked. Sam watched in astounded silence as they bounded off into the hills.

"So. You think to summon me. What's in your head, boy?" He knew that voice. The one from his dreams. His head whipped around to keep an eye on her as she approached.

She was lovely, with clear liquid eyes and hair that seemed to shimmer with whatever colour she wanted it to. She smiled and Sam once again felt himself floating away. He dug his fingernails into his palms and the monetary pain woke him up again.

Another scream rent the air. "Your companion is decimating my pets." The Mother said calmly. "In another time and another world I could have had your flesh peeled from your bones for such an insolence." Although it was a threat, her musical voice and the enchantments she wove made it seem like an endearment.

"You expect us not to do anything when we know how to take them out?" He asked. "Who are you? Really?"

"Take your pick. I have been known as Lilitu, Ardat Lili, Lillake, Lamashtu, Lamia, the Seductress, the Mother, and Queen of the Witches. Do not think that with all my might that I fear you, as insignificant as you are."

"But you still came." Sam said. "I have some hold over you, even if you don't like to admit it."

She frowned, and even that ugly expresion failed to spoil her face. Whoever the host had been, her natural beauty had been eclipsed by what the demon though she should look like.

"Why me? Why all those people?"

She casually began to circle him, taking in his every angle, eyes narrowed. Sam began to feel uneasy; it was like a vulture circling his prey.

"Well, since I helped kill your… husband and all, it's hardly surprising why you're going after me." _Keep talking. Keep her talking._

The Mother laughed. "That putrid sack of excretion? If anything, I should be thanking you for removing him from the inner circle. His absence makes things so much easier. I've already thanked Dean for his part in his downfall."

He finched a bit at his brother's nameThen he grinned. _Demonic marital disharmony. Who would have thought? _"For you in particular?"

"Of course." She gave a toss of that long hair. "Now, Sammy, what is it you really want from me?"

"How do you know me?" He whispered.

"My consort spoke of you. Of your strength and resiliance and courage. Of power unrealised. Unrealised still, if I am correct. And I always am."

"I know what I can do." Sam growled.

"Then show me. Show me what a Wichester can do, and I'll squash you like an insect." Sam made a mistake then. He paused, and the Mother threw him back against a tree, pinning him down.

"Oh, Sam. You could have had me then but you had to stop and think. That consciousness is going to get you into trouble one day."

Helplessly he watched as the undegrowth rustled and out stepped the Trickster. He was scowling. After a moment he was followed by a tall man with wooden features and poisonous green eyes.

"Samuel Winchester, meet my son Cerberus."

_Cerberus. The keeper of the mouth of Hell. Oh dear. _

The Mother glanced at Sam's face. "Poor boy. You didn't think that my dear Hades was my only son, did you? And my little girl is counting the days until you meet again, face to face."

_Crazy runs in packs. And family sticks together. _

"My consort never came out and propositioned you directly, preferring the clandestine approach. And look what that got him. So I will ask you directly. Join us, and live forever, alongside your beloved brother."

"So you can have a matching pair?" Sam spat.

The Mother was about to reply when the Trickster cut in. "I kept my part of the bargain, Lilith. I brought you the kid. Don't tell me you aren't going to honour your side. You swore."

The Mother cast an amused sideways glance at him. "True to your word as always, no doubt you have thought of a way to double cross me as soon as I leave this thicket if I give you what was your asking price. Our agreement still stands, but you failed to negotiate a time and a place for the transaction to take place. And so it is entirely up to my discretion."

The Trickster looked shocked. Clearly no one had ever got one over him before. The lines of his face settled into a deep sneer. He'd been had and he didn't like it.

"Now where were we?"

"This one was about to refuse you." Cerberus growled in a deep, gravely voice. His eyes flashed a toxic colour.

"Calm, Cerberus. You will have another soon." And it chilled Sam as he realised what they were taking about. Finally, he noticed that the Trickster was staring at him with such intensity it could have drilled hoes through brick.

"You are one of the elite. You have trained all your life for a battle such as this one, though you were unaware at the time. You are a creature of destiny, Sam. It wasn't a coincidence that you were born into the Winchester family, or with your peculiar talents. The way you were raised was not left to chance, and neither the fact my husband targeted you." She said. "_You_ are destined to do great things."

"But who for?" Sam asked sardonically. "You don't know. That's still my decision. Otherwise you would just wait for me to turn evil."

Lilith pursed her lips. "My husband tried that, to _influence _people. And was unsuccessful. Have you spotted the failing point? _Free will. _ You've got to really _want_ it. That's why you were able to be pulled back so many times."

Sam remembered then all the other psychics. Jake, the soldier who abandoned the moral high ground to reach his full potential. Ava, who, on the quest for survival had grasped her power with both hands. Max, who found something better than what he had. Even Andy, who experimented with his talents more than was strictly safe.

They all wanted it. Sam was the only one who had pushed it away. At first. It was still there, beckoning at him from behind the walls he'd erected to protect himself. And more and more was creeping in all the time.

"I am not evil."

"Keep telling yourself that, dear, until it really hurts." The Mother smiled. "I knew people just like you, before I was forced to surrender my domain during the War. Those who saw more than ordinary people, and who comforted themselves at night by telling themselves that they'd done the right thing. That to hunt was the right thing. Asking each other the age-old adage. _Does slaying make me a killer? _What do you think, Sam?"

"Go to hell."

"Darling, I'm already there."

* * *

Jo wondered why they were all clustered in the same spot after she nailed the number five ghost by aiming a shot into the ground. Earth sprinkled around her ankles as she reloaded, ignoring the scream she could hear echoing throughout the park. Across the lake, two homeless men were staring at her, no doubt wondering what schizophrenic disorder she had.

Over the other side of town she could hear answering gunfire. She ignored it and continued walking, her nose up close to the paper. As she turned a corner in the park, she almost ran headfirst into someone.

"Oh." Jo said. "I'm sorry, I didn't see-"

He came into the moonlight. It was Gabriel Forsyth. "Nice night for it." He said pleasantly, nodding his head toward the sawn-off shotgun that Jo was still holding by her side.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Jo swallowed, jiggling it up and down. "You see-"

"You're hunting for ghosts. I know."

"You _what_?" Jo said dumbly.

"Don't forget I've been here a lot longer than you. I know a hunter when they mooch into my neighbourhood. There's a certain stroll, a certain arrogance that comes too. Tell me, Jo. Where's Sam?"

"How did you-?"

"Don't you think I haven't memorised the hunters hereabout? He's older, but looks just about the same on his wanted notice. Now, where's Sam?"

"I don't know what-"

"The hell you do. He's a danger to all of us and needs to be taken down." Gabriel took a step forward menacingly and Jo raised the shotgun.

"It's loaded." She said quietly. Gabriel scowled. "Let us finish this job and we'll be gone off your turf. You'll never see us again." She took a breath in. "I only have eight left."

"One."

"What?"

His scowl deepened. "You think I'm a rookie? I was working this scene long before you two greenhorns showed up." It was then that Jo finally noticed the bulge beneath his long coat, the bulge that looked suspiciously like a rifle. She swallowed. "You think you could shoot me before I shoot you?" He asked pleasantly. "_I _get the last ghost, we all go home. And out of the goodness of my heart, I'll give you and psychic boy a head start."

"No." Jo finally growled out.

"Don't want me snatching your victory?" Gabriel asked.

"I couldn't care less. It's dirty and sweaty and I don't care about the freaking ghosts!" Her voice rose in crescendo and all of her fears for herself and Sam and this whole sorry mess spilled out. "You think that's it. You have no idea. Why do you have such a set on Sam?"

"My sister was Chosen." Gabriel spat. "She killed our whole family and I couldn't… I didn't… I should have…" He took a deep breath. "After that I finally had the strength to kill her. She became something else and would have kept killing if someone didn't take her out. The Psychics are just as dangerous as the demons they serve."

"Yeah, well, tough on you. Just so you know, there's a new demon out there right now. She calls herself the Mother and she's one tough bitch. All those disappearing hunters you've been hearing about? That's her work. She's taking out everyone that could be a real danger to her. And she's banking on winning because none of us can get along. She thinks we might all destroy ourselves first."

"Pull the other one." Gabriel scoffed.

"She has Sam. I have no idea what she's doing to him, or where he is." Jo lowered the gun. "You can shoot me later if you want. But I need to see this job through and find my friend before…" She left the sentence hanging.

Gabriel was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, completely impassive. "The last ghost, you say? That should be easy. You're standing on top of her."

Jo gave a start, moving from the spot. Gabriel knelt down and rubbed a forefinger along the grass. It came away with a dark, sticky stain. "Madeline Carmichael. A working girl from further up the block. I wasn't fast enough… And while I was watching, she just got up and walked away."

He withdrew something from his pocket. It was about three inches long, but very thin. As Jo watched, he plunged it into the dewy ground. His expression was hard and set as he waited for the heartrending scream.

"They thought no one remembered how to kill them anymore." He said, and as he spoke the moon was hidden behind clouds so she could no longer read his expression. "This demon. Is she powerful?"

"She's bound a Trickster to do her bidding."

He readjusted something underneath his coat. "Come with me."

"I-"

"I'm just going to make a call. Honestly."

There was a two-way radio mounted on the dashboard of his car. He sat down and picked up the mouthpiece. "Base, this is squad car 3. I need a vehicle chased up. It's a black hardtop 1967 Chevrolet Impala, registration CNK 80Q3. I need to know where it was last headed."

Jo slid into the passenger's side. "Why?" She asked.

"I'd rather no more demons went about messing with people." Gabriel replied.

"Squad car 3, this is Base."

"Hi, Suze."

"When I'm the switchboard I'm Base, Gabe."

"You've been working too long."

"Duh. Anyway, CNK 80Q3 is registered in the name of a kid called Dennis. I ran the plates through CCTV, and the driver was last spotted going into the woods. None of the cameras spotted him coming out the other side, though."

"Thanks, Suze. I mean, Base."

"Aren't you going to tell me what-" He disconnected her.

"That was a bit rude, wasn't it?"

"Shut the door. We've got a psychic to find."


	7. Brothers

It was dark, and beginning to rain a little. Sam sat on the ground, his arms folded over his knees.

The Mother and Cebrerus were standing a little way away, talking. Sam glanced up at them, then down. Should he make a break for it now? Should he wait? As soon as he moved he would be dead. As he watched, the Mother walked away, leaving Cerberus behind.

"Kid." A whisper from the trees. "Kid!"

"What the hell do you want?" Sam hissed.

"Oh, the gratitude." The Trickster grinned. "Sammy, I am here to save your skinny little arse."

"What?"

"Part of the deal, wasn't it? I said I'd get you back to your dysfunctional livelihood safely if we didn't happen to run into old Dean along the way. And so far we haven't. Deal still stands."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure. You could always go to Hell." He indicated Cerberus. "Come on!"

All their attention upon quickly fleeing the scene, both of them failed to spot Cerberus smile.

"You little bastard! You stitched me up."

"Worth a try. The old biddy still didn't give me what I wanted anyway, so it's pretty much a moot point by now."

"Is there anyone you don't double cross?"

Sam could see the Impala through the trees. The moonlight glinted off the chrome. It was then he noticed the driver's door was open, and as he watched, a dark figure stepped out. The half-light illuminated his face, and Sam stopped dead.

Dean looked over to them and waved.

"Uh oh." The Trickster whispered. He turned to Sam. "What now?"

Sam gave an insane and completely reckless grin. "Let's go say hello." He casually pushed aside plants to reach Dean and the Impala.

"And they call me crazy! Screw that, I'm staying here." The Trickster stubbornly sat down on an exposed stump to watch.

"Dean."

"Sam."

The two of them sized each other up. Dean was a little bit more lined about the eyes, a little bit shaggier, but otherwise seemingly the same man Sam had left all those years earlier. It was almost hard to believe that under that façade was a creature that was no longer human.

"How are you?"

"Not dead." Dean replied with a completely straight face.

"Well. Cool. That's always a good thing." Not a flicker of a smile. Sam frowned. "Why did you do it?"

"My reasons are my own." Came the answer.

"So. You come to see the car? I've been looking after it. Like I promised."

Not a flicker.

"What do you want?"

"I don't _want _anything, Sam." He finally growled. "That was taken off me. Along with everything else soft and humane. You know, there's something to be said about not being able to feel pain."

And in that moment Sam couldn't breathe. He sank to his knees, gasping. "You destroyed me, little brother. You alone reduced me to this. You all but killed me, and left me to die alone."

Spots danced before Sam's eyes. _I tried. I tried so hard. I couldn't…_

Dean's eyes were alive with an inner fire. Memories of complete resentment resurfaced in his mind, Dad always being softer on Sam, Sam getting away with being a complete ass because he was the youngest, Sam going off to college and leaving him alone with the hateful, obsessed father. And duty. Always that damned duty to protect his little brother.

He remembered it all, and felt nothing.

"You killed me. No one else."

BLAM!

Sam watched through watering eyes as Dean seemed to fall in slow motion. Slowly he found he could breathe again. Gazing up blearily, he saw the police officer, Gabriel Forsyth, reloading.

"Nice to see you again, Sam." He grinned.

Jo knelt down beside Sam, carefully not looking at the other body.

"What do we do with this one?" Gabriel nudged Dean's prone form.

"I have an idea." Jo fished her phone out of her pocket and dialled a number. The three of them waited in silence until the call connected.

"Deacon, it's JB. We need your help."

* * *

Sam was still groggy, so Jo took charge. She drove the four of them back to Minnesota, Dean and Gabriel in the back, Gabriel keeping his gun aimed on the still figure. Maybe she didn't like him, but he was right when he said that Jo didn't have all the hands needed for the job.

It began to rain, and the ground around the Impala soon turned to slush.

"What exactly was in that round?" She enquired.

Gabriel grinned. "My own recipe." But he didn't divulge anything more than that, and there was no more conversation, each of them left nursing their own dark thoughts.

Quite a while later, Jo pulled up at the deserted back entrance of Locke's Abattoir. The deserted factory was the site of her last hunt with her old partner Deacon Ridgeway, right before she was pulled into Sam's crazy world.

"You all right now?" She asked Sam.

"Super."

"Help me get this guy out." Gabriel demanded. "For a skinny dude, he's heavy."

Jo and Gabriel manhandled Dean over to the gates, Sam watching every move they made with an unreadable expression on his face. Jo noticed while he watched over his brother's body protectively, he never got close to him at any point.

"Deacon!"

"Alright, keep your voice down," A tall man with dark red hair hurried out of the factory, a ring of keys in his hand. Quickly he unlocked the chains and let them in, peering suspiciously at Gabriel, Sam and Dean.

"Looks like you got it all going on." Deacon remarked to Jo.

"Just open the doors for us, Deac."

There was one massive meat locker in the back that Jo remembered. It was reinforced and the door was three inches thick. Deacon had removed all the meat hooks, knives and other potentially dangerous instruments as per Jo's instructions. He even had enough foresight to leave a couple of ratty blankets in the corner.

Sam and Deacon watched as the other two deposited Dean not-so-gently on the floor. "So. You're this Sam JB was up in arms about. I can honestly say I'm not that impressed."

"Really. Why's that?"

"Haven't you heard the stories they tell about you?"

"Yeah. I'm supposed to have three heads and eat small children for breakfast. How much did she tell you?"

"What she wanted done. Care to enlighten me to the plan? What's with the unconscious guy? What about that creep over there?"

"Watch it." Gabriel said gruffly.

The door clanged closed behind them. "I'm not sure if we should tell you." Sam said. "Tell you both. It could put you both in danger."

Gabriel folded his arms. "Since when are we ever _not_ in danger?"

"I'm with the cop." Deacon jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "If we're going to be babysitting, at least tell us what's going on."

"I never asked you to-"

"Yeah, but we're here, aren't we? And there _is_ only two of you." Gabriel said bluntly. "You dragged us into this. The least you can do is tell us what's going on. _You_ told me that there's a new demon out there. Don't you think the rest of us deserve to be told?"

Deacon's eyebrows rose. "There's a _new demon? _What new demon?"

Gabriel glanced at him. "Some evil bitch that wants to take over the world."

"Again?"

"Again."

"Why can't we know?" Deacon's incredulous stare turned suspicious and nasty.

Jo reflectively stretched out her hands. "No, Deacon, it's not anything like that."

"Why the hell would we ever work for a demon?" Sam scowled, catching Deacon's thought.

"You tell me. I've been on the beat ten years, been a hunter a lot longer than that. And I know there's something you're not telling us." Gabriel snarled.

"Deacon, you don't believe this-"

"JB, you just locked some guy in a fridge. What am I supposed to believe?"

"You're supposed to believe me!"

"Even when you're not telling the truth?"

"STOP." Sam cut over the voices. "You want to know the truth? There's an army out there. Something none of us have ever seen before. They're going to win because this is _exactly what happens _when a group of hunters gets put in the same room! They don't have to kill us because sooner or later we'll kill ourselves!"

He took several deep breaths to steady himself. "As for the guy in the fridge, well. He's my brother."


	8. Hunters

The four of them were seated around an upturned wooden box, which upon Sam had placed his Colt.

"Your brother? Really?" Deacon said quietly.

"Wasn't he dead?" Gabriel put in.

Sam nodded grimly. "He was. This new demon, she pulled him back. I don't know why, but she took his soul out of Hell. Dean made some sort of deal with her and now he's going about with her army. He's their captain or whatever."

"Good going, genius. Now whatever little soldier spawn he's leading is going to come after us."

"Okay, so my judgement was a bit faulty at the time." Sam said curtly.

"A bit faulty? What do we do with him now? He's going to wake up sooner or later, and then he wont be quite so easy to hold."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Deacon shot at Gabriel. "What's the deal with this new demon, then?"

Sam seemed more at ease as soon as the subject was changed from his brother. "She's calling herself the Mother among her followers, but her name is Lilith."

"Hm." Deacon said. "That's not surprising. For hundreds of years Lilith has been associated with Night Demons and witchcraft. Supposedly she was banished years ago."

"Banished to where?" Jo asked.

"How should I know?"

"Anyway," Sam cut in. "From what I've been told, she's gathering the souls of each person that was ever sent to Hell and bringing them back as some sort of drone army. The Damned."

"But I'm sure we would have noticed if she had started attacking people." Deacon said. "Someone would have heard _something._"

Sam shook his head. "She wants to conquer Hell first."

That time no one replied.

"She's not going to declare all-out war on us yet because she thinks we might kill a lot of us ourselves first."

"Then she can just step in and take over." Gabriel said grimly.

"She's got these drones out doing whatever she tells them, and then she has all these other creatures she's managed to capture or enthral doing whatever. Dean tried to kill me. Twice. I don't know why. I don't know what any of the other things are doing for her for certain, except that some of them are hunting hunters."

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember three months ago? All those people suddenly up and vanished. And we couldn't find any records on them?" Jo asked. Deacon reluctantly nodded.

"Not just three months ago. People are _still_ disappearing, leaving no more behind than a parking ticket." He said. "Me and Carmen are poking around a little bit to see if we can find anything."

"You've teamed up with _Carmen Lorenzo_?"

"Jo, let the man finish." Gabriel said impatiently.

"We strongly suspect that all those people that vanished were hunters."

"It would explain the lack of records."

"I could have told you that." Deacon folded his arms.

"Right. If that wasn't coincidence enough, there was something else linking all the disappearances. The word 'Ragnarok' was left behind at each abduction site. At first I thought it might have something to do with Norse mythology, but as I investigated further away from the area where it all started, the word began to change."

"The word changed?"

"Sometimes it was 'End', 'Apocalypse, 'Armageddon', and so forth. Even some in Chinese and Latin."

"Sounds like this demon chic wants everyone, no matter where we're from, to know that we're all going to die." Deacon said in an offhand manner. "Giving us a sporting chance. Seeing what we're going to do about it."

"There's a problem." Sam said.

"Only _one _problem?"

"The only way we can take her down is to create an army ourselves, an army of hunters. And that's easier said than done, considering how fifteen minutes ago we were all about ready to go for each other's throats. And that's with only four of us."

"Imagine four hundred, or thousand, or however many hunters in the world. That close for God knows how long? We'd kill each other." Jo said.

"We made a start here, though."

"What?"

"Instead of killing each other we put the guns away to reach some semblance of an accord." Deacon said. "That's the first step, right? Putting away the weapons and talking."

"Please don't tell me you're getting suckered in by all this teamwork rot." Gabriel scoffed. "A hunter works best alone."

"Do you know Ellen Harvelle's place?" Gabriel shook his head. "Then you probably know Danny Moriarty, Luthor Richards or Megan Locke instead. They all run places where a hunter can grab a drink, a bed or some information. They've been in this gig for longer than most of us here have been alive and they'll tell you that a hunter is at his most powerful when he's got people to back him up."

"Yeah, but they're another generation, huh? They did things differently back then."

Jo rolled her eyes. "We wouldn't be here _having _this conversation if it wasn't for people like them."

"And just because things were done differently back then doesn't mean they were any better or worse than here, now. But we've got to stop fighting ourselves and start fighting the enemy."

"What do you propose?"

Sam picked his Colt up off the box. He studied the way it fit so snugly into his hand, made for him only. It was almost amazing that a device so small could create so much damage to those around it.

"Sam?"

"Choose how you want to die." He said. "We're going to war."

* * *

Although they were only four, it was a start.

And a day later four became five, with the arrival of the sultry Carmen Lorenzo in their midst. She swept their hidey-hole with those blue-grey eyes, before cataloguing each of the other hunters, silently evaluating them in turn.

She turned to Sam. "Good to see you again."

"Carmen," He greeted with a nod of his head.

Then Jo remembered something from when they had gone back to Nebraska. "Hey, I never asked before, but why were you calling her when we went to the Roadhouse?"

"Hasn't Sam told you yet?" Carmen gave a dangerous little smile, showing too many teeth.

Jo narrowed her eyes. "Told me what?" _Please tell me you're not dating _her. _You can do _so_ much better. _

Sam looked awkward, and Jo thought she'd hit the nail on the head. Then it slowly came out. "A long time ago I was getting really serious about a girl. But she had some… nocturnal activities that were a danger to other people. She asked me to kill her."

"Nocturnal activities?" Gabriel echoed. "What sort of nocturnal activities?"

Sam and Carmen exchanged uncomfortable looks. "Nothing you need to know." Sam said shortly. "Carmen's…"

"She was my best friend." Carmen said. "And I was determined to find whoever killed her. Eventually I got to Sam."

"And also found a voodoo smuggling ring at the same time-"

"-Which we busted up-"

"-And burned to the ground."

"Sounds like one hell of a party," Deacon remarked.

"I understood why he did what he did to her. They were both too self-sacrificing for their own good."

"Hardly anyone ever caught me before, so I asked Carmen how she did it. She didn't want to tell me, so I put her in touch with Danny Moriarty who owns a pub not far from here."

"And I've been working there ever since, giving Sam a nudge in the right direction when he calls."

"Oh."

"_Our _kind of pub."

"So, you're not going to try and shoot us or anything?" Deacon asked.

"Why would I _want_ to do that?"

"'Cause that's basically what the lot of us did before we became the Fantastic Four." Gabriel said. "Damn near pulled the trigger on all of them."

"Guess it's more like the Fabulous Five now." Deacon remarked. "If you're in."

"Are you?" Sam turned to her.

Carmen's steely complexion didn't flicker.

"Who would I be to say no to all these puppy-dog eyes?" She asked seriously.

Jo laughed.

Sam smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, the army has started recruiting."

_From the start of life  
To my dying day  
In the dark of night  
And the burning light of day  
It's a bloody fight  
But I can't walk away  
I'm prime for the front line._

* * *

**Long Disclaimer and Author's Note following: **

The opening lyrics of Unholy War belong to Alice Cooper, and all associated with him.

I don't own anything out of the Supernatural universe.

I do own Gabriel, Deacon, Carmen, Cerberus and the Mother.

Lilith supposedly existed(exists) and seems interchangeable with Night Demon or Storm Demon. She was also held responsible for spreading disease among young children.

The evil ghosts that spring from the blood of a murder victim are allegedly real. Villagers _would _nail an iron spike in the blood spatter so nothing could come out to haunt them.

These stories started in that time where it wasn't clear whether Supernatural would get a third season, so all of this will become AU later on. There will be at least one more story to round things out, possibly more depending on if anyone wants to see what happens next.

They put Sam and Jo together as partners seven years in a future where Sam wasn't able to save Dean at the end of one year. Hypothetically. And I'm surprised at how many people don't like Jo. We haven't seen enough of her for her character to be fully rounded out yet, that's all. And Dean…

As you've probably guessed, he's only evil for now.

Once again, thanks to all that reviewed and all that read without reviewing.

Next time:

HUNTED

Sam and Jo have gone recruiting after being given the impossible task of creating an army, but have a small problem. No one will believe them about Lilith and the danger she brings.

Meanwhile, way back in Minnesota, Deacon and Gabriel are keeping an eye on the recently awake Dean. But when he doesn't try to escape, they know there's something wrong. Is the new demon going to attack them from within?

With Lilith's Clan poised to attack, Dean planning away his solitude, monsters slaughtering lone hunters and lesser creatures running away from the devastation, do Sam's small band of followers stand a chance?

On the bright side, Bobby's back. And he has company.


End file.
